


hold onto hope if you've got it

by peterneds



Series: hall of fame [5]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Birthday Fluff, Bisexual Peter Parker, Domestic, Fluff and Angst, Gay Ned Leeds, Infinity Stone Soul World (Marvel), M/M, Mostly Fluff, Podfic Welcome, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Tony's not dead bitch, Trans Peter Parker, but Peter is, everything else is the same, lmfao happy birthday peter it's 2019 ur still dead, ned and may didn't get dusted, this is endgame compliant but like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 23:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20200312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterneds/pseuds/peterneds
Summary: Peter Parker wakes up on the morning of August the tenth, drool dripping down from his mouth onto Ned’s chest, his arm slung over his eyes.Peter Parker wakes up in the cold unforgiving red of the Soul Stone. He is alone./title from '26' by paramore





	hold onto hope if you've got it

**Author's Note:**

> this has mentions of themes that follow the canon of my fic a kid afraid of the dark. it's not absolutely necessary to read that before this, but it will make for a better understanding of certain parts of it.
> 
> enjoy! <3

Peter Parker wakes up on the morning of August the tenth, drool dripping down from his mouth onto Ned’s chest, his arm slung over his eyes. 

The smell of chocolate chip waffles wafts through his cracked-open door and he smiles with his eyes still closed. Golden sunlight shines in through his window, basking the two of them in honey-like warmth. His bedsheets are tangled and wrapped around their ankles, kicked down in the night. He snuggles closer into Ned and sighs contentedly. He missed this.

May taps her knuckles gently on the door and it swings open, the soft sounds of what Peter recognizes as his _ Mornings with the Parkers _playlist muffled from the kitchen, and she smiles as she says quietly, “Happy birthday, Peter!” 

Peter’s smile grows tenfold, his cheeks stretching and forming wrinkles around his eyes. He whispers a “thank you,” and then turns his head towards Ned to signal that he’s still asleep. May nods in understanding and leaves the door cracked once more behind her. 

He feels around the bed for his phone, doing his best to stay still so as not to wake Ned, and grimaces slightly at the bright light it gives off to his still-waking eyes. He has a few messages so far, it’s only eight in the morning on a Saturday: one from MJ, Pepper, Shuri. He smiles through the cracks in his heart when he clicks on Pepper’s and sees a video message, the thumbnail being none other than Morgan Stark herself. He’ll save it for later, for when he can properly thank her. He has a few emails from school associates, the board, the decathlon. Automated things, but they still make him smile. 

_ Eighteen. _He can hardly believe it. 

* * *

An hour later when he receives a text message from May telling him that breakfast is ready, he turns his head to get a look at Ned. His hair is going every which way, his eyes closed and his lips parted. Peter suppresses a laugh as he leans down and takes Ned’s bottom lip into his mouth.

He huffs when he gets no reply, leaning his chin down until it digs into Ned’s squishy cheek and stares up at him under his lashes. He continues huffing, hoping his breath will be enough to make Ned’s eyes flutter open - but still, nothing, so he decides poking and prodding will have to do. He takes his right pointer finger to Ned’s hip and one to his neck and taps lightly, pressure increasing until finally, he hears the familiar sound of Ned’s waking-up groans. 

He stretches his arms out and Peter hears the way his back pops and he laughs. “Hmm,” Ned hums. “Good morning, birthday boy,” he says and leans down to press a lingering kiss to Peter's hair.

“Birthday _man, _now,” he says with that grin and looks into Ned’s eyes and waggles his eyebrows. 

“Oh my _ God, _” Ned groans and turns away from Peter, burrowing under the blankets again. 

“Morning, Ned!” May shouts from the kitchen. The two of them look at each other and burst into a fit of giggles, falling into each other. 

Once their chests have stopped heaving, Peter gets out of bed and drags Ned out by the hand to have breakfast. They stumble through the hallway into the kitchen where they both flop down into seats next to each other, with May directly across from them. She’s wearing her clear-framed glasses - Peter’s favorite on her - with a yellow shirt that makes Peter think of warmth, and a smile to match. On the table, there’s a plate piled high with waffles, another platter with sausage, eggs, and the bottle of syrup placed next to it. May’s brewed them two cups of black coffee and has also brought out sugar and their favorite flavored creamer. This woman is Peter's angel from heaven, and he tells her such. 

This type of breakfast, this type of morning - it brings Peter back. Back to his childhood, special Sunday’s where his parents would splurge and make a full breakfast before he’d even woken up yet. Or, after, days with May and Ben when they wouldn’t have to go to church so early and May would shake him awake and lead him out of bed with the promise of chocolate and extra syrup if he came down right away. 

There’s a pang in his chest as he remembers, a twist of his heart as he realizes the empty places at the table where they sit and laugh, normal, easy as breathing. It hurts when he thinks of him, too - catches a glimpse of where he used to sit at the table. But it’s okay. The ones who are here now love him - love him more than that man ever could have, love him better than Ben was even capable of. 

Ned bumps his knee lightly under the table and he looks up at him and smiles. He knows Ned probably knows to some degree what he’s thinking about, so he presses a kiss to his cheek and says, “Thank you. I’m okay,” and means it.

* * *

“Babe, Mr. Stark texted you!” Ned shouts from his place at the kitchen table to Peter, who is sat in front of the television. He’d received a package in the mail from the aforementioned man a few hours after he’d woken up to find that Mr. Stark had gotten him a Nintendo Switch console, complete with two controllers, a charging dock, a case, and a few games. 

It was safe to say Peter’s been mesmerized in front of the TV ever since. 

His head whips around to the direction of Ned’s voice as soon as he hears _ Mister _ fall from his mouth, and he fumbles around with his controller before he finds the right button and pauses _ Breath of the Wild _before he runs into the kitchen and bumps his hip on the table, but he ignores the faint pain in favor of scrambling to unlock his phone. 

He smiles even before he reads the message, simply at Mr. Stark’s contact picture. It’s of the two of them at the Tower, holding Peter’s Stark Industries certificate, big grins on their faces, presumably because they’re both holding up peace signs above each other’s heads. He subsides the general ecstasy of knowing Tony Stark and knowing Tony Stark _personally _and having Tony Stark be your _mentor _and flicks his eyes downward to read the message. 

_ Mr. Stark: _ _Happy birthday, kid! I hope you and Ned have been enjoying the Switch, let me know if there are any other games you have your eyes on, please. May told me that today’s a go-with-the-flow kind of birthday, but Maguna wanted me to tell you she wants to see you so we will probably end up coming to the park or meet up for ice cream if it all lines up. Kid, I just want to let you know how well you’ve done, as Spider-Man, of course, but also just as yourself. We, and I speak for all of us, are incredibly proud of you, for coming out, for being brave enough to recognize that you need help, for being so goddamn mature in your relationships and friendships. We all would be better to be half the man you’re becoming. You inspire me to be better. I love you, kid. How are you 18 already? _

Peter’s smiling so hard he thinks maybe his cheeks will burn forever but he doesn’t _care, _he doesn’t care at all. He doesn’t even realize that tears were forming in his eyes until he feels them falling down his cheeks. God. There is no way he ever thought this would be his life. There is no way he ever imagined that he could be surrounded by kind-hearted, accepting people - only the best people - who would make his life infinitely better. It is and always will be hard, he thinks. He knows this to be true, knows that even simply being Spider-Man brings up many issues - adding his trans, bisexual, mentally ill identity on it only increases the probability of conflict and hard times in his life, but he truly believes he wouldn’t trade it for the whole world. 

_ Peter: Thanks so much Mr. Stark! The switch is great, I’ve been playing it ever since it got here. I love you too. Thank you for everything you’ve done and continue to do for me _

_ Peter: Ice cream with Maguna sounds perfect I miss all my family being together _

_ Peter: Maybe text May time and details I feel like it’d be easier to do it that way? _

Miles away upstate, Tony Stark laughs a breathless laugh as he finishes the buttons on Morgan’s dress. Peter and his damn triple texts.

_ Mr. Stark: Will do, kid. We’re all excited. _

_ Peter: so are we!!! See you then!!! _

_ Mr. Stark: Love you, kid. _

_ Peter: Love you more _

Peter leans back into the chair and sighs happily, clutching his phone to his chest. 

“What?” Ned asks, trying to hide his laugh. This is the exact position May used to tell him she’d see Peter in when Ned was texting him. 

“I love my life,” Peter says.

* * *

Peter loves his life. 

With Morgan upon his shoulders, her giggles and the birdsong a perfect symphony of everything joyful and beautiful in all of creation, and the people he loves most in the world surrounding him, there's probably nothing that could ever compare to these perfect few moments. There's probably nothing that could bear the same weight as the warmth that spreads through his chest as Morgan spreads her fingers atop his scalp and gently threads her fingers through his sweaty curls (she's the most precautious one-year-old baby he's ever met, literally no one has ever been this gentle with him, not even Ned or May). 

He loves his life. 

* * *

Peter Parker wakes up to the cold, unforgiving _red _of the Soul Stone, and he is alone. 

He has this feeling you get when you wake up and you know there's something important about the day, but you can't place it through the haziness of early morning. He brushes it off, in any case. 

Things like days of importance are a luxury he can't afford here. 

* * *

May Parker wakes up on the morning of August the tenth to a silent apartment. 

It's been two years since Peter - 

It's been two years without him. 

She finds that his birthday is maybe the worst part of it all. Or maybe the anniversary. Maybe when Ned comes over and the unforgiving, empty space where Peter should be stares deep into her soul until she can't take it anymore. Maybe it's all of it. Maybe there are no bearable days. She can hardly tell anymore. 

She gets up, eventually. Ned's coming over today. They'll visit his grave and make cookies or cake or pie for him together, hope the process will be enough to distract them even for a few moments from the thing they face every day but still can't ever truly look at head-on. 

Ned knocks at her - at their - door at ten AM sharp, and when she opens it to greet him he has a bouquet of yellow roses clutched to his chest. (Peter's favorite.)

She takes them with a watery smile and sets them down to be tended to later in favor of hugging Ned. May's always thought he was an honorary Parker but these past two years have truly solidified that, in her mind and in her heart. She knows there are just about two things that keep her going in this whole world and they are: hope that Peter comes back one day and keeping Ned under her protection. There's only so much she feels capable of, these days, barely able to keep herself afloat but it's okay if she can make Ned feel better. It's okay. She's doing what Peter would have done, had he been here. Had they lost someone they both loved. 

It's okay. 

It's okay until May's digging around drawers for a cookie-cutter and she finds holiday pictures of the Parkers, the lonely three. It's okay until she's shaking with sobs on their kitchen floor and Ned's the one hushing her, Ned's the one protecting her. It's okay until they make it to his grave and she falls to her knees, pleading to the God she tried too hard to believe in to bring him back, trade his life for her's, to do anything, _anything, _to see him smile again, to cradle his head in her lap. Anything. Anything at all. 

(Ned cries when he lays in Peter's bottom bunk, cries when he finds his old hoodie that Peter stole and realizes it doesn't smell a thing like him anymore. He cries when he sees the slip May signed for him to come on the MoMA field trip. Fuck. He wishes more than anything they hadn't gone. Stayed home with MJ. And maybe it wouldn't have been any fucking different but this empty space and time without his whole heart, without Peter, is driving him up the wall with the what-ifs and could-have-beens. Could he have saved Peter if he were there? Was Peter killed, or did he die like the men on the news and Tony Stark tell him half the world did? 

And what if, for all the things he'd done for Peter, all the things he would have done, will never get to do, for Peter - what if he hadn't fucking caused the distraction?)

They cry together when Ned's at their door again, bag slung over his shoulder and container of baked goods clutched tightly in his hand when they hug goodbye. May's sniffling into his shoulder so much like how Peter would - and he has to look away. 

"Stay," she says, her lips quivering as she wipes the back of her hand under her nose. "You shouldn't have to walk home this late." 

Ned is, somehow, shocked (not at her hospitality, she's probably the kindest person he knows aside from Peter, and it only increased when he was the only one she could still mother). He stutters out, "o-oh, I..." before he looks her in the eyes and his heart breaks with it. It's easy to miss when you, too, are feeling the same way about the same person, grief playing the devil on your shoulder in more ways than one, but _God, _this woman. He's indebted to her for life. Forever. So what if he has to sleep in his dead boyfriend's bed without his dead boyfriend, May would do more and worse things for him. 

He says, "of course," and delights in the way May's eyes light up with her smile. 

* * *

Tony sits, cursedly awake, at their kitchen table. He can't seem to stop shaking or fidgeting, can't stay still long enough to even entertain the idea of simply closing his eyes, much less to actually sleep. 

Today was the kid's birthday. 

Morgan caught him zoned out, tears giving him glassy-eye, she called it. She asked him, "Daddy, why are you sad?" 

He huffed a sigh and looked at her. His gorgeous, miracle girl. He could never understand how someone like him made someone like her - someone so perfectly beautiful. She was incredibly in tune with her emotions along with others for someone so young. She read him like an open book. 

And maybe he could tell her. Maybe he'd say his friend had been missing or lost like when she lost her stuffed alpaca for two weeks and never ceased her search until she triumphantly presented it to Mommy and Daddy, who had offered several times to buy her a different toy. But she didn't give up until she had found him.

_Huh, _Tony thought. How the hell did that one slip by right under his nose? 

He smiled at her and lifted her into his lap, pushed her hair out of her eyes before he drops a kiss on her nose. She laughs and it's absolutely the best thing he'll ever hear in his life. She is his greatest creation. 

"Uh... Maguna, I lost somebody... well, not just me. Lots of people," he says and looks at her. 

She stares back at him thoughtfully. "Like how I lost my 'paca?" she inquires.

Tony laughs and nods. "Yup. Just like your 'paca." 

"Still looking?" she asks as she cups his face in her hands. 

"Well, of course," he says, and his mind may be right in front of her, weighed down by her hands, but he is flying so far away it's a miracle he's still tethered to Earth. "Did you ever stop looking for your 'paca?"

* * *

Ned flicks the light on in Peter's room so delicately you'd think it was made out of glass. He's holding his breath - doesn't even realize it until his lungs start to burn and he lets it all out in one big huff of air. 

Almost nothing about the room has changed. 

Sometimes Ned comes in here when he visits. Before, it was to drop off homework or to check if he'd somehow shown back up. Then, after a while, it was for comfort. But then, once he started to understand what that _snap _had done - coming in this room hurt too much. He felt like an intruder, somehow - like being in Peter's space disturbed his ghost. Like Ned could ruin something entirely fragile and irreplaceable: what was left of his memory. 

Now he just feels like he wants to run the fuck away. 

He plops his bag down on the floor and sits down on the bottom bunk. It creaks beneath his weight and he sighs, rubs his hands over his eyes. He's so _tired. _He selfishly wishes that even if Peter is dead he could have him for the lone nights, for his warmth and the tufts of his hair that would tickle Ned awake. For the peace that he felt in his chest knowing Peter was safe beside him. 

Now he tosses and turns, restless, wondering if Heaven made beds comfortable enough for him to rest in. Wondering if the gates were strong enough to protect him. 

It's okay until he pulls back the covers and the smell of Peter, perfectly locked beneath them, wafts directly through his nose and pierces his heart. 

He's restless until he finally sleeps, and he sees Peter in his dreams. 

* * *

Ned kisses him a thousand times, it feels like. 

All over his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his eyelids, his lips, his hands, his fingertips, his palms.

Solid. Real. 

Peter sits in front of him in his telekinesis shirt and blue flannel, as real and alive as ever. He's _beaming_, joy seems to pour out of him and spill onto Ned and mend the pieces of his heart and soul back together. 

It's okay. Truly, now, it's okay. 

Peter jumps into his lap and holds him tight, and Ned holds him back impossibly tighter. He buries his nose in Peter's hair, lets his curls tickle his nostrils. He doesn't care. Nothing could pull him away from this moment.

Ned loves him. Ned loves him. Ned loves him. 

* * *

Ned Leeds wakes up on the morning of August the eleventh, drool dripping from his mouth and onto the pillow beneath him. 

He is alone. 

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday peter!!!  
this is a day late bc i was busy on the tenth but then i stayed up til 2am writing this bc i'm irresponsible  
i have a very long interwebs fic coming up that i'm perfecting so stay tuned for that
> 
> prompts are always welcome & encouraged! here's where to find me  
hcllnd on twit & tumblr  
ree182 on spotify for interwebs playlist


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